


A Hell Like No Other

by vestigialwords



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vestigialwords/pseuds/vestigialwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He doesn’t know her name, her birthday, her favorite color, or why her voice sounds a little funny when she speaks, but it doesn’t really matter. All Nero knows is that she’s special; he knows she’s the one he wants to marry. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>He is six years old. She doesn’t know his name.</i>
</p><p>[See Notes for Trigger Warnings]</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hell Like No Other

**Author's Note:**

> Possible triggers for issues surrounding miscarriage.

Her smile is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life. He fell in love with her the first moment he set eyes upon her and never bothered to climb back up again. He doesn’t know her name, her birthday, her favorite color, or why her voice sounds a little funny when she speaks, but it doesn’t really matter. All Nero knows is that she’s special; he knows she’s the one he wants to marry. 

He is six years old. She doesn’t know his name.

He spots her finishing up her lunch at a picnic table. Her friends have all gone off to play together under the shade of a tree, but she lingers a moment or two to savor the rest of her food. He saunters over to her table and stands across from her, silent, unsure exactly what to say. He doesn’t even remember deciding to approach her. 

“What?” Her voice is strained as if she doesn’t appreciate the interruption. 

“Your voice is silly,” he informs her matter-of-factly, “You say your words wrong.” That night his mother will try to explain that people who live in the same place speak the same way, and that people who live in different colonies speak differently. It won’t make sense to him. She lives in the same place he does now, why should she have an… “accent?” Years later, he will learn that this girl and her mother had emigrated from a distant Romulan colony after her father was arrested and imprisoned by the Tal Shiar for espionage. Presently, however, tact is lost on him. 

“Well,” the girl snaps at him, insulted, “your voice sounds silly to me.” She closes her lunchbox and storms off to join her friends under the tree. As he watches her retreating figure, an intense desire to remain close to her comes over him and he charges off behind her.

“Look out, Mandana!” One of the girls under the tree shouts to her. Mandana turns to see what the girl is pointing at and her eyes widen when she sees Nero barreling after her. She squeals, drops her lunch box and runs. It’s exactly what he had been hoping for and he gives chase, in and out of play equipment and trees, occasionally shouting such juvenile taunts as: “I’m going to catch you,” or “you’re stupid!”

She’s tiring of his games and of running from him. She stops and turns, ready to tell him off, but he rams right through her, toppling her to the ground. It’s immensely satisfying for some reason he can’t explain. He’s left feeling warm and content, but the feeling is fleeting. 

Behind him, the girl—Mandana—starts sobbing and the sound makes his stomach lurch and plummet to his feet. He feels sick and dizzy and all of a sudden it’s not worth it. He turns back to her and extends his hand to help her up.

“I’m sorry.” They’re the right words, but somehow they’re inadequate. 

“Why did you do that?” She chokes out the words through her tears.

“Because I like you.”

“That’s stupid,” she tells him and he knows she’s right, but she’s almost laughing now and he doesn’t care because—

 

... she has accepted his hand. They’re standing in traditional ceremonial robes, waiting for the Council of Elders’ official blessing so they can begin their life together. His family and her friends sit attendance, and even though Mandana’s mother is glaringly absent, his new wife looks happier than he has ever seen her.

Everything is perfect—Mandana is scheduled to start teaching youngsters at the local schoolhouse in a few weeks and he has a position as First Officer aboard the mining vessel Narada. She wasn’t the most glamorous of ships, and much of her technology was decades out of date, but she did her job well and her crew was hard-working and loyal. With any luck, he would be promoted to captain in three years. 

Mandana’s mother doesn’t share his excitement—she had been hoping her daughter would marry a military man who would bring honor back to their family after her husband’s treason. Unfortunately for her, Nero had dismissed any prospects of a military career very early in his life. 

“There are many ways to serve Romulus,” he had said when Riila suggested that he enter the military when he came of age. “I’m a peaceful man, not a soldier.”

When Riila had announced her refusal to make an appearance at the ceremony, Mandana had been disappointed, but hardly deterred in her plans, insisting that her mother would one day come around. Nero’s heart had swelled to fill his entire chest and threatened to block off his throat, and he’d seemed to forget language altogether. 

As the Elders finish the blessing, she turns to him and he doesn’t think she can get more beautiful. 

She is still asleep when he wakes up the next morning. Sometime during the night she had stolen all the sheets and twisted herself up in them. Her hair is mussed and tangled, her mouth hangs open and she has drooled a little on her pillow. She is a mess, and he realizes he had been mistaken the night before—like this, unassuming and unsuspecting—she is breathtaking. He props himself up on his elbow and watches her chest rise and fall as she takes breath, listens to the faint snuffle-snoring that she would deny to her grave and he—

 

... falls in love with her all over again. She is sitting on the bed reading, belly swollen with child and a content smile pulling at her lips. He crawls up the bed toward her and nuzzles her shirt up.

“Hello,” he mumbles into her skin, gently placing kisses across her exposed middle. He smiles when a little foot nudges against his face. “Hey baby, it’s daddy. I love you.” He can feel Mandana’s eyes gleaming down at him. His lips still pressed to her stomach, he shoots his eyes up to meet hers. She's staring at him with such love and compassion and he would do anything just to keep her looking at him like that.

“Do you need anything?”

“Some ice water? It’s warm in here.”

Nero disagrees. It is the middle of a positively brutal winter, the temperature regulator is set to “cool” and he’s wearing two sweaters just to keep from shivering, but if the lady wants ice water, ice water she shall have. After all, he’s not the one who spent five weeks curled around a toilet and six months carrying their son. 

When he returns with her drink, she has fallen asleep and dropped her book over her face. He smiles and gently removes the book, placing it on the nightstand next to her water.

There are still preparations to make before the baby arrives, and Mandana is hardly in any position to paint a bedroom or build a cradle. He tosses one look back at his beautiful wife before getting to work and—

 

... she lies still on the bed. It’s been a month since he returned planet-side and he has been saturated with drink the whole time. He can barely tell left from right, up from down, but still remembers what misery is. Mandana had gone into labor in her twenty-fifth week of pregnancy. Nero had been off-planet at the time, confident that everything would be safe—Ambassador Spock was working on the Eisn supernova problem and his wife had the best physician in the colony. The crew had been celebrating the discovery of a particularly vast vein of dilithium when the communication from Romulus arrived—a small, pink slip of paper consisting of only one word: Miscarriage.

Mandana hasn’t cried once. He wishes she would, because at least it would be something. Getting her to eat or drink was impossible and he had given up trying to force her. All he can do is make sure that a glass of water and a packet of crackers are stocked at her bedside. She ignores his attempts to rouse her from bed and turns away whenever he tries to talk to her. Her lethargy is new, foreign, and a hell worse than any he had ever imagined. He had taken to turning on the lights or making lots of noise, even though she specifically had asked him not to, just to provoke a reaction. Her fury is nasty, cruel, and it drives him to the bottle, but at least for a few short moments, she acts like she’s alive.

He’s desperate and has exhausted all of his options. He can’t fathom how to comfort her when he himself feels about to shatter. Crawling across the bed, he takes a place spooning her and curls up to fit against her. Burying his face into her hair, he does his best to wrap around her like a shield. He’s tired like he never has been before. She pulls his arm around her body and cuddles her face into his hand. It’s wet with tears and it breaks him. They cry for hours, taking turns holding each other close.

In the morning, she turns to him and smiles for the first time in weeks.

“Nero, what would I—

 

... do without you?”

Nero is sixteen years old and doesn’t quite know how to respond to that question. He’s cradling, in his arms, the love of his life, who just happens to be lamenting her ended relationship with her ex-boyfriend. They had been broken up for weeks, and honestly, he doesn’t want to hear about it. He wants to be there for her, but he can't pretend he isn't happy she’s not with the guy anymore. It would be easier if she would spare him the gory details—like how she was sure they had almost been ready to make love for the first time—but he knows those are the things she needs to confide the most. Nero doesn’t say a word, just shrugs.

“No, I’m serious,” She looks up at him, her eyes large and watery with tears. “Why can’t more guys be like you?”

He didn’t know what to say.

“I’ve always just assumed that when you see the person you’re meant to be with, you just know.”

“Love at first sight isn’t real, Nero” she laughs at him. He isn’t sure whether to feel crushed, or happy that he made her laugh. “You’re the kindest, most compassionate, considerate person I know. You couldn’t hurt anyone. Why can’t—,” she trails off and tilts her head at him. Nero’s insides squirm. It’s quiet, and he doesn’t like it.

She narrows her eyes at him for a moment. Her mouth opens in shock, or to say something, he can’t tell, and—

 

... she shrieks with joy as he lunges at her. She’s running through the halls of their home with him hot on pursuit. He can smell the soap in her hair as it trails behind her, long and flowing, riding the air currents as she runs. She’s up the stairs quickly, but he takes them two at a time to scoop her up at the top and toss her over his shoulder. 

She kicks his chest, pounds on his back and and struggles against him, but is laughing all the while. Nero tosses her down onto their bed and he tumbles down on top of her. He flashes her a grin and loses himself. 

The doctor tells them their baby girl is healthy and it’s the best news in the world. 

 

They fall back onto the bed and he’s not thinking much of anything anymore. He’s almost in pain with desire for her and she’s ripping at his shirt like she feels it too. Clothes tossed aside, he caresses her face, her neck, her breasts, her stomach, before finally settling between her legs. She presses against his fingers and begs him in high pitched whispers to be merciful. It’s too much and he can’t wait any longer. He fists his hands in the sheets and buries himself in her in one swift stroke, relishing the moan that escapes her throat. Her legs wrap around his waist and he thrusts into her, his movements slow but raw and desperate. 

She consumes him until her presence around him is the only thing he knows. He buries his face in her neck and she gasps his name into ear and shudders all around him. It’s perfect and he’s close— _so close_.

 

 

 

He’s awake. 

The scent of her lingers in his nose and he lies absolutely still so as not to frighten it away. The air around him is stagnant and warm—he has come to hate it here on the Narada. Not that it matters—he has nowhere else to go.

He’s nearing on fifty years old now and in some ways feels much older—in others, still twenty-five. The tattoos lacing his arms and chest spell out his life and losses for the universe to read. Some of the survivors had gone the traditional route, and let the marks of mourning fade along with their grief. For Nero, who had burned the marks deep into his skin, they were still as angry and vibrant as they had been the day they were penned. 

“Captain?” Ayel doesn’t bother to knock and pokes his head through the doorway. “Captain, we will be arriving at Vulcan in approximately fifteen standard minutes.”

Nero is still wrapped up in his blankets and he doesn’t have his command face on, but he nods in acknowledgement. Anyone else would have been thoroughly admonished for the intrusion, but Ayel always received mercy when no one else would. Since Rura Penthe, Ayel had taken to checking in on him occasionally and, while at first aggravating, Nero had grown to appreciate the extra care. It was a small comfort that someone knew of the torture Nero had endured at the hands of the Klingons. Nero had traded his body for those of his crewmen, who remained blissfully ignorant of his sacrifice and spent their twenty-five year captivity in a conventional prison. He had been a civilian then, not a military man trained to withstand torture—physical or psychological, but he was still a captain. And a captain had certain duties. 

Ayel lets a sad smile ghost his face as he takes his leave. Alone now, Nero throws his feet over the side of his bed and stands, his old bones crackling in protest. Every little scar tugs as if threatening to split open with his every movement, and sometimes he can still feel the electrical nodes clamped to his chest, wrists and ankles. The tip of his bitten-off ear itches like mad, but there’s nothing he can do about it, so he clenches his teeth and endures. He pulls on the best clothes he has—it’s not much, but today is an important day and he still feels like he has to try to be presentable. 

A few minutes later, he storms onto the bridge and his crew stands quickly at attention. He nods curtly and they return to their duties. On the command screen in front of him Vulcan grows into a full-sized planet from a tiny speck in the sky. Nero scans the planet’s horizons, wondering briefly how anyone could ever voluntarily live in such a desolate and miserable landscape before quickly recalling that he really doesn’t care. 

“Sir, we’re within laser range… now.”

A nerve twitches in Nero’s jaw. 

“Start the drill.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers that he is— _had been_ —a peaceful man and this isn’t how it was meant to happen. He should be on Romulus making love to his wife. He should be witnessing his daughter’s commitment ceremony. He should be holding his beautiful grandchild. He should be doing one of a million things that isn’t revenge—should be one of a million places that isn’t the Narada.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to my LiveJournal a few years back. I cleaned it up a bit and changed some words, but it's essentially the same.
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.


End file.
